So would hers. They didn’t fit her image anymore. She was the red-hot mama who’d just brought Adam Bridger to his knees.
Peeling off both socks, she threw them on top of her other clothes on the sofa. Then she propped a couple of pillows against it, leaned back and pulled the covers up to her waist.
The fire was still burning well, the flames licking the cedar Adam had split last fall. The image of him swinging an axe, his T-shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest, created a hum of pleasure in her core.
Her lady parts had never felt so alive, so incrediblyawake. She couldn’t stop a grin of satisfaction from breaking through.
But what on Earth had possessed her to act the way she had? She’d never flaunted her girls or spoken to a man in that tone of voice.
Then again, no man had ever looked at her quite the way Adam had when she’d taken off her bra — like she was the most voluptuous woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
That dazed adoration had gone right to her head. She’d wanted to drive him wild. And she’d succeeded, by golly. He’d?—
“Somebody sure looks pleased with herself.”
She glanced in the direction of his voice. “You got dressed.”
“Sort of.” He walked into the light of the fire still wearing his socks and he’d covered up the rest of him with gray sweats and a matching sweatshirt. “Figured we should eat that food you brought.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.” But he hadn’t. Maybe he wasn’t as besotted as she’d imagined.
“I brought you these.” Crouching down, he handed her what was obviously the same outfit in white. “They’ll swim on you, but the pants have a drawstring and the cuffs on the sleeves will keep them from getting in your way.”
“Thanks, but I can just put on my?—”
“You can if you want, but…” A gleam lit his brown eyes. “Jeans are harder to get off.”
“Oh.” Her stomach fluttered. “Point taken.”
He continued to gaze at her. “Damn, lady.”
“What?”
“You pack a punch.”
“I do?”
“You do. When you look at me like that…”
Her heart shifted into triple time. “Let’s postpone dinner.”
“You don’t know how tempted I am.” He blew out a breath and stood. “We need to eat. I have a feeling once these sweats come off they’ll be staying off.”
She gulped. “Okay. What about the fire?”
“We’ll let it die down. I’ll build it up later.”
“Mm.” She’d just bet he would.
“Three-hundred degrees, right?” He walked toward the door to grab the bag she’d brought.
“Right.” She hugged the soft fleece and let his delicious words roll around in her head. He was into her, after all.
Gratifying. Worrying. They should talk about it, so maybe dinner was what they needed right now.
She stood, skipped her panties and put on his sweats, securing them with the drawstring. The intimate caress of the material on her sensitized skin promised to keep a slow burn going even though he wasn’t physically touching her.
She’d borrowed his clothes a few times over the years, mostly a jacket or sweatshirt when the weather unexpectedly changed during some outdoor adventure. He’d tell a big fat lie, claiming the cold or the rain didn’t bother him.
